


Broken

by creativeone298



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 22:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6876952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativeone298/pseuds/creativeone298
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Eighth Brother survives his fall on Malachor, but an encounter with Vader makes him wonder if he were better off dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the anon who submitted this painful headcanon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+anon+who+submitted+this+painful+headcanon).



> Based primarily off of this ask here: http://starwarsrebelsverse.tumblr.com/post/143570307918/so-uh-8bro-being-a-stringy-rubbery-parkour

He didn’t try to stick the landing. Once the Eighth Brother had realized that his lightsaber had failed, his head clouded, pulsing with adrenaline. He quickly realized he had to focus on how he fell, if he wanted any hope of survival, which was not looking good. He knew he couldn’t roll into the landing; he almost screwed up his neck at nine meters at a controlled fall; this would kill him. He figured he could hit it sideways with the aid of the Force, and attempted to keep his breathing under control. He was relatively good at bracing himself with the Force; it came with his fighting style, but this would be a challenge.  
He didn’t have much more time to think as he turned himself to the side, and pushed against the side of the pyramid with the Force, hoping to balance out not being in pain with throwing himself into the air again. He still hit the stone hard, and felt his something in his chest snap. He felt the rest of him bruise as he desperately tried to protect his broken rib as well as the rest of him. He rolled down only for about a minute before he roughly hit the ground and lost consciousness.  
He woke up because he felt like he was deep underwater. The Force was closing in on him, but this did not feel like the familiar embrace or crackling energy of the dark, or even the soft call of the light. It was a pressure, bearing down on him, making him think that if he stayed for another minute, he would snap. With great difficulty, he sat up, wincing at the sharp pain in his chest, and stood up, mostly relying on his legs. He gingerly felt around himself to assess any other damage, and though he was badly bruised and hurt everywhere, nothing else was broken. He began to run, run away from the pressure, the ringing in his ears. He did not stop for ten minutes, his labored breathing hurting his chest even more. He could vaguely hear a TIE fighter taking off somewhere behind him, and he wondered just who was piloting it.  
He saw the bright light shortly before he heard the explosion, and then he felt it propelling him forward, the heat searing his back, slamming him into the ground, and knocking him out again.  
He felt the presence before he woke: large, imposing, and enraged. He opened his eyes to find Darth Vader standing in front of him, the anger rolling off of him in waves. The Eighth Brother wondered if Vader could feel him similarly projecting his fear.  
“You failed your mission.”  
The Eighth Brother stared blankly and felt himself go cold. It slowly started to register that he did not capture the Shadow, and that he now had to answer for himself.  
“Yes, Master.”  
“You failed the Empire.”  
The Eighth Brother felt shame bearing down on him. He had been defeated, he was a disgrace.  
“Yes, Master.”  
“You failed me.”  
This time, the Eighth Brother’s voice broke: “Yes, Master.”  
Vader waited a while for the Eighth Brother to wallow in his own shame and pity before commanding him to stand.  
The Eighth Brother knew that Vader could pick him up like a ragdoll, with or without the aid of the Force, but Vader wanted him to feel his injuries as he rose painfully. He probably fed off of his discomfort.  
“Take off your helmet.”  
The Eighth Brother felt dread pooling in his stomach. He knew the technique Vader was using on him; make the other person reveal their weaknesses to him, and he would remain an unfeeling mask. The knowledge of how Vader was playing him did not make it any easier to swallow. He took his helmet off slowly, almost ritualizing the process. It felt so familiar that it almost comforted him, but then he heard Vader’s breathing more clearly and practically felt his smirk through his mask.  
He then felt a constricting sensation around his neck, and attempted to breathe, but Vader had a tight hold. He saw the outstretched arm, and though he knew it would be futile, he clawed at his neck, attempting to loosen the hold. He thought of how pathetic he must look, but he didn’t care; he wanted to live. He was beginning to see spots dancing in his vision and he started to go limp.  
Vader then let him go, dropping him hard on the ground. The Eighth Brother did not attempt to break his fall; his training forgotten as adrenaline flooded his brain. He greedily gulped air into his lungs, and when he focused his attention back in front of him, Vader was kneeling, on eye level with him.  
He felt Vader’s presence at the edge of his mind, and he used all of his energy to try and keep Vader out. Unfortunately, the Eighth Brother wasn’t trained enough to stop an attack like this; he was only supposed to kill low-level Jedi, and lately, old, out-of-practice Sith Lords. Nothing like the man in front of him, overpowering him, who was slipping into his head by the second.  
Vader probed through the Eighth Brother’s mind, bringing up happy memories, painful memories, his greatest fears, dredged up forgotten times. The Eighth Brother did not know how much time had passed by the time he was truly the only presence in his head again, but Vader still knelt in front of him, tilting his head with an almost childlike curiosity.  
“You hate being inhibited,” he stated, and the Eighth Brother hated how it wasn’t a question, because now Vader knew everything about him, and he had no need to ask.  
“Even the binders made you uncomfortable.”  
The Eighth Brother felt blood draining from his face; the fact that Vader even knew the details of his capture by the two Jedi caused his heart to drum wildy.  
“That’s good. It can easily be worked into what I have planned,” Vader said, grabbing the Eighth Brother’s arm and bending it unnaturally, his joint screaming in protest until it broke. The Eighth Brother screamed in pain, struggling against Vader’s grip, but Vader merely moved onto the other arm and broke it in the same fashion. He held the Eighth Brother in place as he writhed.  
The Eighth Brother felt anger boil in his chest, and years of training helped him execute a solid push kick to Vader’s chest, even in his state. Vader stood up, but before the Eighth Brother could roll to his feet, Vader stomped on his thigh, snapping the bone. The Eighth Brother’s screams pierced the air, and he started to sob. He felt as though his entire body were on fire, as if he were being ripped in half. He braced himself, waiting for Vader to shatter his other bone and be done with it, but it never came. It felt like an eternity that he sat there in sickening anticipation. When his mind finally wandered, Vader broke his other thigh bone and the cycle of pain began all over again for the shell of a man. It continued for a good few hours; the screams of the Eighth Brother punctuating the silence as Darth Vader broke him, physically and mentally.  
They remained there for hours, Vader tormenting the Eighth Brother, until finally, as the last of the Eighth Brother’s patience waned, he reached out to Vader for a last time.  
“Kill me, please.”  
Vader simply turned on his heel and walked away. Before the Eighth Brother lost consciousness again, he heard the roar of a TIE fighter in the distance.


End file.
